Fireworks.
It was what had been missing.
Throughout her life, she had seen movies and read books of the kind of love that sparked fireworks from even the simplest of kisses. The kind of love where you just knew, without a doubt, that you were born for the sole purpose of finding this one person.
Until now, she had never believed in that kind of love.
Two years ago if you had asked her, she would have told you there was no such thing. That as someone who was in fact head over heels in love with her wonderful fiancée, she knew first hand that it was just a myth. Sure, Danny had been a good kisser. A great kisser. But no fireworks were present. Brilliant flashes of color did not appear and a loud pop was not heard. And she was perfectly fine with that. After all, it was just a myth, wasn't it?
Turns out she was wrong.
So very wrong.
That kind of love did exist. She wasn't quite sure of just how many people actually had the pleasure of experiencing these fireworks, but she did know she was one of them. And she thanked God every night that she was one of those lucky ones
Sometimes she feels guilty for these thoughts. Most people would agree that dismissing the love of a man you were supposed to marry as less than par was, well, wrong. But after spending more then a few lonely nights pondering over the situation, she came to a conclusion. This would have happened no matter what. Eventually, she would have learned the truth about SD-6, and eventually she would have met Michael Vaughn. So really, she was lucky.
This way, she gets her fireworks, sans the unfaithful thoughts, nasty arguments and inevitable divorce papers.
So now, as she sits in his bed listening to his shower run while eating the breakfast he prepared for her, she is guilt free.
The question is, how did she finally get there?
**Flashback**
"Syd?"
She can hear his voice, but is doing her damndest to ignore it. Sure, she doesn't normally pass up an opportunity to talk with the guy, but she is pretty sure that it is nearing three in freaking the morning. And she is tired. She could blame that on the tedious briefing she went through the previous night, but they both know that the fact that her eyes will not open is entirely his fault. We all know what that means.
"Sydney? Honey, wake up."
OK, now she's up. Groaning, she rolls over to glare at him.
"Vaughn, what did I say about that word?"
"I know, but it's the only way I was going to get you up."
There were a lot of things that bothered Sydney, but one particularly odd pet peeve she had acquired was her hatred towards the term 'honey'. Yeah, it was cute, but it was too cute. It reminded her of some overbearing husband requesting his homemaker wife to do some chore. And she was most certainly not a homemaker. She was an agent of the CIA, and while it goes unspoken, she could kick her boyfriends' ass. Normally, she kept this little altercation to herself, but Vaughn had immediately picked up on the cringe she unconsciously experienced the first time he tried it.
There were very few moments where she resented how well he knew her, but this was one of them.
"Well I'm up, what did you want."
Instead of replying, he throws her the tank top and striped pants she had been wearing earlier. She watches in complete confusion as he throws on his T-shirt and searches in vain for his pants. Eventually he gives up and begins heading towards the door, stopping to look expectantly towards her.
"What?"
"Come on."
"And where exactly do you plan on dragging me at three in the morning?"
"Syd, please don't be difficult, just throw on your clothes and come on."
After tossing a few curses his way, she climbs out of the bed and into her Pj's. Stumbling out into the hallway, she finds him in his boxers, T-shirt and coat, swinging the keys in a circle, waiting patiently for her.
"If this is for work, I really don't think Kendall would appreciate us showing up in our pajamas. Not to mention my father."
"This isn't work."
"Then what is it?"
"Just grab your coat, I'll be in the car."
"Fine."
She smirks at him as he leaves the apartment, and hobbles towards her coat, not before tripping over a chair or two first. Later, she would apologize to him for her behavior. Later, as in when she had some coffee in her system.
Making it unscathed to the car, she tears open the door and hops in, slamming it shut.
"Michael Vaughn, this had better be good. I am tired."
"I would say that isn't my fault, but I know otherwise."
"Shut up."
As he turns on the engine, she watches in horror as a grin appears on his face.
"Why in the hell are you smiling? Do you take joy in putting me through pain?"
"We both know that's not true."
"Mich-ael!"
"Stop whining, it doesn't become you."
"I don't like you right now. In fact, I hate you right now."
"I figured you might."
And with that, he reaches into his coat pocket and whips out a bottle of Starbucks Vanilla Frappachino. Which, of course, is her favorite. Acting on pure fatigue, she reaches out for the caffeine blasted refreshment, only to have him pull it out of her reach.
"Nah ah. Not until you apologize."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Not in the slightest."
After thinking about it for a minute, she relents.
"I do not hate you Vaughn."
"Last time I checked, my name wasn't Vaughn."
"Why are you being so difficult! Just give me the damn coffee!"
After laughing, he tosses her the coffee and watches in amusement as she rips open the plastic and guzzles half of it. After releasing a sigh, she looks over at him in disappointment.
"I really don't appreciate that you find this humorous."
Reaching out for her check, he smiles, full well knowing she can't stay mad at him for too long because of it.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I just can't tell you where we're going. It won't be too horrible though. I hope."
She smiles back at him, hating the fact that he does this to her, yet at the same time loving it. After a few moments in silence, he reaches over and flips on the radio, causing her eyes to slam shut and her hand to immediately snap the volume down to a whisper.
"Listening to Beyonce scream about how Crazy In Love she is really isn't going to help."
"Hey, it's your car, it's your CD."
Sighing in acknowledgment, she hits eject and pops John Mayer in.
"Isn't this . . ."
"I kind of stole it from you."
"That's what I get for dating a spy."
After a slap on the arm, she realizes that the car has stopped and they are sitting in front of an apartment building.
"Where the . . ."
And suddenly it dawns on her. Looking over at him, she feels a smile on her face appear almost as wide as his. He gets out of the car and opens her door, helping her out. They climb the stairs in silence and when they get to the door, he fumbles with the keys for a moment before finally letting her in.
Stepping inside the room, she takes a moment to let her eyes wander. Surprisingly, she finds that the room has been decorated quite tastefully. The majority of the time, she finds that guys' apartments don't quite fit. Somewhere along the way she came to the conclusion that it was kind of like lemonade. The decorating is always done with good intentions, but doesn't always end that way. There are either too many jagged edges and it turns out too sour, or too many soft hues and it turns out too sweet. But Vaughns' was just perfect.
The walls were covered in a warm blue, not to soft, but not yet navy. Black leather chairs framed the matching couch, and a well-sized television sat in a tasteful stand full of CD's and videos. A glass coffee table was placed in front of the couch and was adorned with a few coasters and a well read Sports Illustrated or two. Tearing her eyes from the living room, she took a peak at the kitchen in the left corner. It was a clean white, bordered mid-way with shiny black tiles. All in all, it screamed Vaughn.
Sighing, she looked around once more, a grin playing on her face.
"So, this is your place."
"This is my place."
"I like it."
"I was hoping you would."
"Do I get a tour?"
"All you had to do was ask."
Flashing her a small smile, he intertwines their hands and drags her down towards a small hallway.
"This is the guest room."
As she pears inside, she finds a mountain of boxes surrounded in plain white walls and a small desk in the corner, drowning in paperwork.
"Well, at least it's supposed to be. I haven't quite gotten around to that yet. A certain asset has kept me occupied."
She laughs and follows him as he makes his way towards the next door.
"Just a closet, nothing much to it."
And then the next door.
"Here's the 'guest' bathroom."
Again, she finds white walls, although there is a navy blue rug and soap dispenser that add taste.
Finally . . .
"And this, this is my room."
He moves away and allows her to open the door. Once inside, she finds it to be just what she expected. A deep green decorates the walls and all of the furniture is a rich oak. The bed is backed to a large window, looking out into some sort of park. A bathroom lies in the right corner, and tiny green tiles surround the sink and shower.
Looking back at him, she swings her arms around his neck and smiles sweetly.
"It's very you."
"You think?"
"I do."
Smiling wider, he moves in to kiss her. The kiss deepens, but before they go any further he breaks away, and she can see that he wants to talk. She has come to love the way she can tell what he's thinking just by the look on his face. It's always the little things . . .
"Syd, I woke up tonight and I realized that I had a drawer at your house, and you hadn't even seen mine. I have spent the night at your house nearly every day for the past two months, and the fact that you hadn't been here, it was ridiculous. I know, we've been busy, with protecting the country from sociopath's and all, but it still bothered me. Which is why I had to wake you up so early."
Smiling wider, she moves in to hug him. His arms tugs tighter around her waist and she can feel him smiling into her hair.
"Thank you."
She whispers lightly into his ear, and then pulls back to look at him.
"I love you Sydney."
"I love you Michael."
Both are aware that it's the first time they have ever spoken the words, but somehow, it doesn't seem unfamiliar. With that settled, they melt into eachother again, for their first night in his bed.
**End Flashback**
And that is how she ended up here. Looking back on the night sends chills through her. It reminds her of a sappy movie, yet somehow it didn't seem sappy. If that made any sense whatsoever. And that wasn't the only time she felt this way. The feeling has come over her day after day for the past two months.
She had her fireworks.
And she was happy.
It was what had been missing.
Throughout her life, she had seen movies and read books of the kind of love that sparked fireworks from even the simplest of kisses. The kind of love where you just knew, without a doubt, that you were born for the sole purpose of finding this one person.
Until now, she had never believed in that kind of love.
Two years ago if you had asked her, she would have told you there was no such thing. That as someone who was in fact head over heels in love with her wonderful fiancée, she knew first hand that it was just a myth. Sure, Danny had been a good kisser. A great kisser. But no fireworks were present. Brilliant flashes of color did not appear and a loud pop was not heard. And she was perfectly fine with that. After all, it was just a myth, wasn't it?
Turns out she was wrong.
So very wrong.
That kind of love did exist. She wasn't quite sure of just how many people actually had the pleasure of experiencing these fireworks, but she did know she was one of them. And she thanked God every night that she was one of those lucky ones
Sometimes she feels guilty for these thoughts. Most people would agree that dismissing the love of a man you were supposed to marry as less than par was, well, wrong. But after spending more then a few lonely nights pondering over the situation, she came to a conclusion. This would have happened no matter what. Eventually, she would have learned the truth about SD-6, and eventually she would have met Michael Vaughn. So really, she was lucky.
This way, she gets her fireworks, sans the unfaithful thoughts, nasty arguments and inevitable divorce papers.
So now, as she sits in his bed listening to his shower run while eating the breakfast he prepared for her, she is guilt free.
The question is, how did she finally get there?
**Flashback**
"Syd?"
She can hear his voice, but is doing her damndest to ignore it. Sure, she doesn't normally pass up an opportunity to talk with the guy, but she is pretty sure that it is nearing three in freaking the morning. And she is tired. She could blame that on the tedious briefing she went through the previous night, but they both know that the fact that her eyes will not open is entirely his fault. We all know what that means.
"Sydney? Honey, wake up."
OK, now she's up. Groaning, she rolls over to glare at him.
"Vaughn, what did I say about that word?"
"I know, but it's the only way I was going to get you up."
There were a lot of things that bothered Sydney, but one particularly odd pet peeve she had acquired was her hatred towards the term 'honey'. Yeah, it was cute, but it was too cute. It reminded her of some overbearing husband requesting his homemaker wife to do some chore. And she was most certainly not a homemaker. She was an agent of the CIA, and while it goes unspoken, she could kick her boyfriends' ass. Normally, she kept this little altercation to herself, but Vaughn had immediately picked up on the cringe she unconsciously experienced the first time he tried it.
There were very few moments where she resented how well he knew her, but this was one of them.
"Well I'm up, what did you want."
Instead of replying, he throws her the tank top and striped pants she had been wearing earlier. She watches in complete confusion as he throws on his T-shirt and searches in vain for his pants. Eventually he gives up and begins heading towards the door, stopping to look expectantly towards her.
"What?"
"Come on."
"And where exactly do you plan on dragging me at three in the morning?"
"Syd, please don't be difficult, just throw on your clothes and come on."
After tossing a few curses his way, she climbs out of the bed and into her Pj's. Stumbling out into the hallway, she finds him in his boxers, T-shirt and coat, swinging the keys in a circle, waiting patiently for her.
"If this is for work, I really don't think Kendall would appreciate us showing up in our pajamas. Not to mention my father."
"This isn't work."
"Then what is it?"
"Just grab your coat, I'll be in the car."
"Fine."
She smirks at him as he leaves the apartment, and hobbles towards her coat, not before tripping over a chair or two first. Later, she would apologize to him for her behavior. Later, as in when she had some coffee in her system.
Making it unscathed to the car, she tears open the door and hops in, slamming it shut.
"Michael Vaughn, this had better be good. I am tired."
"I would say that isn't my fault, but I know otherwise."
"Shut up."
As he turns on the engine, she watches in horror as a grin appears on his face.
"Why in the hell are you smiling? Do you take joy in putting me through pain?"
"We both know that's not true."
"Mich-ael!"
"Stop whining, it doesn't become you."
"I don't like you right now. In fact, I hate you right now."
"I figured you might."
And with that, he reaches into his coat pocket and whips out a bottle of Starbucks Vanilla Frappachino. Which, of course, is her favorite. Acting on pure fatigue, she reaches out for the caffeine blasted refreshment, only to have him pull it out of her reach.
"Nah ah. Not until you apologize."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Not in the slightest."
After thinking about it for a minute, she relents.
"I do not hate you Vaughn."
"Last time I checked, my name wasn't Vaughn."
"Why are you being so difficult! Just give me the damn coffee!"
After laughing, he tosses her the coffee and watches in amusement as she rips open the plastic and guzzles half of it. After releasing a sigh, she looks over at him in disappointment.
"I really don't appreciate that you find this humorous."
Reaching out for her check, he smiles, full well knowing she can't stay mad at him for too long because of it.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I just can't tell you where we're going. It won't be too horrible though. I hope."
She smiles back at him, hating the fact that he does this to her, yet at the same time loving it. After a few moments in silence, he reaches over and flips on the radio, causing her eyes to slam shut and her hand to immediately snap the volume down to a whisper.
"Listening to Beyonce scream about how Crazy In Love she is really isn't going to help."
"Hey, it's your car, it's your CD."
Sighing in acknowledgment, she hits eject and pops John Mayer in.
"Isn't this . . ."
"I kind of stole it from you."
"That's what I get for dating a spy."
After a slap on the arm, she realizes that the car has stopped and they are sitting in front of an apartment building.
"Where the . . ."
And suddenly it dawns on her. Looking over at him, she feels a smile on her face appear almost as wide as his. He gets out of the car and opens her door, helping her out. They climb the stairs in silence and when they get to the door, he fumbles with the keys for a moment before finally letting her in.
Stepping inside the room, she takes a moment to let her eyes wander. Surprisingly, she finds that the room has been decorated quite tastefully. The majority of the time, she finds that guys' apartments don't quite fit. Somewhere along the way she came to the conclusion that it was kind of like lemonade. The decorating is always done with good intentions, but doesn't always end that way. There are either too many jagged edges and it turns out too sour, or too many soft hues and it turns out too sweet. But Vaughns' was just perfect.
The walls were covered in a warm blue, not to soft, but not yet navy. Black leather chairs framed the matching couch, and a well-sized television sat in a tasteful stand full of CD's and videos. A glass coffee table was placed in front of the couch and was adorned with a few coasters and a well read Sports Illustrated or two. Tearing her eyes from the living room, she took a peak at the kitchen in the left corner. It was a clean white, bordered mid-way with shiny black tiles. All in all, it screamed Vaughn.
Sighing, she looked around once more, a grin playing on her face.
"So, this is your place."
"This is my place."
"I like it."
"I was hoping you would."
"Do I get a tour?"
"All you had to do was ask."
Flashing her a small smile, he intertwines their hands and drags her down towards a small hallway.
"This is the guest room."
As she pears inside, she finds a mountain of boxes surrounded in plain white walls and a small desk in the corner, drowning in paperwork.
"Well, at least it's supposed to be. I haven't quite gotten around to that yet. A certain asset has kept me occupied."
She laughs and follows him as he makes his way towards the next door.
"Just a closet, nothing much to it."
And then the next door.
"Here's the 'guest' bathroom."
Again, she finds white walls, although there is a navy blue rug and soap dispenser that add taste.
Finally . . .
"And this, this is my room."
He moves away and allows her to open the door. Once inside, she finds it to be just what she expected. A deep green decorates the walls and all of the furniture is a rich oak. The bed is backed to a large window, looking out into some sort of park. A bathroom lies in the right corner, and tiny green tiles surround the sink and shower.
Looking back at him, she swings her arms around his neck and smiles sweetly.
"It's very you."
"You think?"
"I do."
Smiling wider, he moves in to kiss her. The kiss deepens, but before they go any further he breaks away, and she can see that he wants to talk. She has come to love the way she can tell what he's thinking just by the look on his face. It's always the little things . . .
"Syd, I woke up tonight and I realized that I had a drawer at your house, and you hadn't even seen mine. I have spent the night at your house nearly every day for the past two months, and the fact that you hadn't been here, it was ridiculous. I know, we've been busy, with protecting the country from sociopath's and all, but it still bothered me. Which is why I had to wake you up so early."
Smiling wider, she moves in to hug him. His arms tugs tighter around her waist and she can feel him smiling into her hair.
"Thank you."
She whispers lightly into his ear, and then pulls back to look at him.
"I love you Sydney."
"I love you Michael."
Both are aware that it's the first time they have ever spoken the words, but somehow, it doesn't seem unfamiliar. With that settled, they melt into eachother again, for their first night in his bed.
**End Flashback**
And that is how she ended up here. Looking back on the night sends chills through her. It reminds her of a sappy movie, yet somehow it didn't seem sappy. If that made any sense whatsoever. And that wasn't the only time she felt this way. The feeling has come over her day after day for the past two months.
She had her fireworks.
And she was happy.